


dark waltz

by storyskein



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Canon Compliant, F/M, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, Just a little angst, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Relationship Advice, SO MUCH Bed Sharing, Sharing a Bed, platonically ofc, some light season 4 spec
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 14:39:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9496094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyskein/pseuds/storyskein
Summary: Bellamy and Clarke live together, but can't seem to make that final step. Shit happens, and they try to figure it out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a (belated) birthday present for one of the best people in the fandom, danikboo. Love you and happy birthday :)  
> 
> 
> also thank you to my beta, verbaepulchellae, for her excellent advice as always.

The exodus happened weeks ago, Clarke in the vanguard with while Bellamy and Miller ran security along the caravan’s column. It had been exhausting, dirty work, but every night when the guard straggled into camp he would find her eyes, glinting bronze-blue in the firelight, searching him out. Handing him a cup of water and rations with a raised eyebrow, a soft slide of her hand along his shoulders. They sat closer and closer the first few nights, but when the fire died or the grounder bard quieted, they parted ways. Bellamy would watch her go into her tent, a sheet of tarp propped up by a pole and staked down, not much room for more than one person. But she liked being alone, it seemed, at the end of a day full of people. He would wander off to what Miller called the guard-pile, sleeping on the outskirts of the group, ever wakeful, ever watchful. 

Then one night she took his hand and led him into her tent. 

Nothing happened. They turned their backs, the atmosphere slowly charging, slowly changing between them, the only sound the rustle of their dust-caked clothes hitting the ground. There was only so much space to move, and they ended up brushing each other in their movements, elbows bumping and skin sliding in a way that was familiar and new at the same time. 

Clarke laid down first, patted the mat beside her. “Come on. You don’t sleep, I can tell.” 

He snorted. “Neither do you.” 

She shrugged. “I know. But maybe we can not-sleep together. And it’s warmer here than at the guard dogpile.”

Bellamy sat down next to her, tried to keep the mood light. He could feel what he wanted, what he had wanted for months now, despite everything (or maybe because of, probably both, he was never sure), start to feather up his spine. “Well, I don’t know, Clarke. Miller puts off a lot of body heat.”

Clarke smiled, and it didn’t quite reach her eyes, but that was okay. The smile was rare enough. “I’m sure, but you’d have to compete with Bryan. And I’m sorry to tell you, but I think Bryan has a lockdown on Miller’s body heat.”

Bellamy rolled back on the mat, turned on his side. Suddenly wanting to make that smile reach her eyes, wanting to make her laugh. “I could never compete, not with Bryan. He’s just too handsome.” 

This time a giggle escaped, and she looked up at him, almost guilty. But he returned the smile to reassure her, and with that something changed between them. He knew, then, that every night they would share a tent; every night, they would talk about their day. 

And they did, retreating each night under a carpet of silvery stars and inky purple sky to the small tarp-tent, ignoring the curious looks that followed them.

*

Farm Station had been a fucking mess when they’d arrived. But everyone worked, ceaselessly, from morning alarm until the deep night, trying to get it ready for when the doors would close. 

The first night there, uncertain if the quiet intimacy between them was just road trip alchemy, Bellamy didn’t press it. He’d get his room assignment when he finished with work. 

But Clarke came to find him, lit pale blue by the lantern she carried. 

“Do you have a room yet?” she asked, watching as he unloaded a carton of the last, precious few bullets on planet Earth onto a shelf in their new armory. 

He glanced over his shoulder, cheeks warming. Clarke flushed too, but she also didn’t back down when she wanted something. Knowing that she apparently wanted him--or at least, his company--was a light, bright feeling. 

“No, not yet. Kane posted the rooms for singles, I assume--”

“I got us a double.” Clarke looked at him full on, not flinching, but then said the words so fast he could barely catch them. “I can change it, if you want, just, my mom asked as soon as we got here who wanted what, and since there are fewer doubles I thought it would be better if I asked for one now, than….waiting…” She trailed off, looked a little shy, a little hesitant. But with a chin tilt, the confidence was back. 

It surprised Bellamy to find that he liked the shy, liked the hesitant. That slip of a mask, just for a second. Not for anyone else, he knew, but him. 

“I’m glad you did,” he said. He took his jacket from where he had slung it over a chair, shrugged it on. “Let’s go home.” 

*

They became closer in those weeks. Most days they worked together seamlessly with an intuition that half-frightened Bellamy, half-awed him. Most nights they slept together, Clarke reaching out with her feet to entwine his legs with hers. 

Even after a council meeting where they fought like hell, throwing down and stubbornly refusing to give ground, they would still make it back to their room. Bellamy didn’t know how they kept coming back, to be honest, and the night after their first major fight he was sure that it was over, whatever _it_ was. But instead they undressed in silence. Turned out the lamps, in silence. Crawled into bed, in silence. 

And under the cover of darkness, they began to talk. 

*

The rasp of oxygen flowing in and out from his tank through the hose filled his ears. Sweat ran in rivers down his body, soaking his interior suit, dripping into his eyes. There was no cleaning it off, only smearing it across his visor. It made the job of checking the perimeter all that much harder, and longer, worse for the fact that everyone else had been too busy to suit up with him. 

So he was late coming in, and then the decontamination process took awhile. By the time he stepped out of the last airlock and into the showers, it was twenty minutes later. A change of clothes had already been left for him, and on top of his stack of underwear, pants, and shirt was a small, dense cake laying on top of a napkin. Clarke. 

Bellamy pulled on his clothes and laced up his boots, smiling as he took a bite of the pastry. Baked goods made from grains were new, courtesy of some of the Western clans, and the stores wouldn’t last forever. Having Clarke snag one for him--or let him have hers--was one of those sweet gestures they were doing more and more. 

He strolled along quiet corridors, lights at brown-out, wiping away the last bit of crumbs from the corner of his mouth before he opened the door to their room. Bellamy eased open the handle as quietly as possible, so as not to wake Clarke. 

Instead, he found Clarke sitting on the edge of the bed. An inventory pad laid on her lap, a pretense at work, but he knew better. The skin around her eyes was drawn tight, her mouth in a frown. Her head snapped up as he walked through the doors, widened and darted over him, and then he got it. 

“What are you doing still up?” He pitched his voice low, asking the question even though he knew the answer.

Clarke put the pad on the metal desk and stood, every motion deliberate, composed.

For all the progress they had made, there were times when they were both _back_. Back to whatever haunted them, to whatever primal fears drove them. Mostly, for her, it was nightmares; for him, certain emotions combined with a sound, a motion. This was new, though, something else. Behind her still posture he could see that her chest rose and fell rapidly and a wildness crawled across her shoulders. 

“Waiting for you,” Clarke’s voice was rough. “You were late.” 

Bellamy remembered a similar conversation, over radios, forever ago. This time it was different, but so much had happened between then and now, they had both lost so much more than they had thought possible.

“But I’m here. Just a long job. I was the only one who could go out and check.” 

“I just…” Did he imagine it or did her eyes dart to his lips, then back to his eyes? Again, reminding him of a fireside conversation, again of a speech she gave him, again of the feeling of her lips on his neck, of her lips on his cheek, her hand desperately seeking his, her lips against his knuckles-- _when did we start?_

“Clarke.” Bellamy swallowed, suddenly needing to be the one to say it. She had, over and over again, told him _I need you_ , _we need each other_ , _I trust you, we survive together_. He had no idea what words to say, because with her looking at him, both afraid and unsure and relieved, and him suddenly sweating a little because--this was it. This was the moment they had been hurtling toward since the dropship landed, and all the words he might’ve wanted deserted him. 

Then Clarke broke the silence. “I’m just glad you’re back,” she said, voice overly bright but still catching on the words. “Let’s just...I’m going to go to bed.” 

She turned from him and walked the three steps it took to get from their bed-- _their_ bed, that still shocked him, because again he wondered _what they were_ \--to their--fuck, _their_ \--dresser to pull out her pajamas. Usually they were careful about dressing and undressing, a necessary tactfulness and respect of understood, but never discussed, boundaries. But now she pulled off her shirt, shoved off her pants, and tugged on the camisole and shorts she slept in, all flustered and flushed. Before she could turn back to him, he turned from her, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to convince his dick to not make this more awkward than it already was. 

Bellamy heard the sheets rustle as she crawled into bed. With a sideways glance, he saw that she was curled facing the wall, eyes shut. 

Shit. 

He took his time undressing, both to calm down his half-hard cock and slow his breathing. Sleeping alone he would just wear boxers, but with Clarke, he took to wearing a soft, holey old shirt as well, so he pulled it out of the drawer--cleaned and folded next to her undershirts--and again the question of _how did this happen_?--both excited and frustrated him. Five minutes ago he thought he knew. 

But there was nothing to be done for it. Trying to combat his growing irritation he pulled on the shirt, flicked off the lamp, and slid into bed, uncomfortably reminded how small a double bed actually was. Her body heat had already warmed the sheets, and the space between them smelled like the soap she used. Normally both of those things comforted him, lulled him to sleep. 

The darkened silence was tense, both of them still awake, both of them pretending to be falling asleep. 

The Station creaked and groaned. The air cycling unit kicked on and a low, pleasant hum filled the room. Minutes crawled passed. Bellamy heard Miller and Bryan’s--their next door neighbors--door creak open and bump shut. Bellamy scrolled through his mental file of work schedules, trying to lull his mind to sleep in any way possible. Bryan had overnight guard shifts this week.

And it worked, because when he opened his eyes soft morning light spilled through the window, and the spot beside him was empty. 

*

They didn’t see each other for two days. It wasn’t completely unheard of, if she had medical emergencies and he had guard duties. But Bellamy knew that she took extra shifts, and he did too. When he went to the room to grab a change of clothes, he saw the evidence of her: a damp washcloth, dirty clothes in the hamper. 

Part of him, the rational part, knew that this was temporary. That they had been through too much shit to let something like this drive them apart, that maybe what they both needed was some time to figure out how to start. These weeks in the relative safety of the Station had been the first time they had been safe, together, and changing their relationship which both they--and their people--depended on for survival was no small thing. Bellamy understood that deep into his bones. It was the same fear that kept his mouth shut and stilled his hands more times than he could count. 

The other part of him, the less rational part, saw that empty room and felt both the loss of his mother and Gina, and he swallowed back creeping nausea that tingled at his jaw. He grabbed his clothes and turned out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. 

*

“Son, go home.” 

“What?” 

Kane flicked his eyes up to Bellamy over a set of schematics. “I said go home. You’ve worked too many hours. Plus, you’re normally an ass--”

Bellamy rolled his eyes. “Thanks, sir.” 

“--But right now even more than usual. Something going on?”

“I’m fine,” Bellamy snapped. 

Kane’s chair creaked as he leaned back. “Seems so.” 

Bellamy shifted his weight under Kane’s scrutiny.

“Abby says that Clarke has worked thirty-six hour shift. Requested it.” 

“So?” 

Kane shrugged. “You’ve worked pretty much two days straight, except for that four hours you took in the guard’s bunk.”

Bellamy sighed and crossed his arms. “Your point?”

“My point is that you’re living with Clarke, and whatever the nature of your relationship is, neither one of you have been at your quarters for two days.” Kane leaned forward and steepled his fingers in front of him. “Do you need to talk about whatever it is that’s eating at you, or her, or both of you?”

“Is this one of those, I’m happy in my relationship, now everybody needs to be happy things?” Bellamy snapped then immediately felt like a dick. Kane just raised an eyebrow at him.

“Sorry, sir,” Bellamy sighed. Fucking fine. Confiding and hashing shit out is what functional people did; it’s what he did with Clarke. And he couldn’t talk to Clarke about Clarke. So. “I...Don’t know what to do about Clarke.” 

“Ah. But you live with her?”

“Correct.” 

Kane nodded and waited a beat. “Abby tells me that Clarke has told her you guys aren’t...dating. That you aren’t together.” 

Together. Fuck, that word. “We’re not dating.” 

“But you live together.” 

“Yes.” 

“And Clarke asked for couple’s quarters for you.” 

A hot flush crawled up his neck. Jesus. “Yes.” 

“And something happened in the last few days so that both of you have worked two-day shifts at your jobs so you didn’t have to go home? Did you fight?”

“No. Just. We kind of...got to the point where something needed to be said. And neither of us said it.” Bellamy paused and shifted his weight, both relieved and uncomfortable at the same time. “I don’t think either of us knows how to say...it.”

Kane studied him for a moment, tapping his fingers lightly against each other. “You know...before Abby and I could start being together, we had to decide to move on from the past.” He paused, keeping his eyes trained on Bellamy. “We had to choose that, and we have to choose it every day. Some days that’s easy. Some days it’s not. But it’s a choice you can make, and it’s easier when you have someone who loves you, and someone who you love, to help you with it.” 

“I don’t know how to do that.”

Kane snorted. “You know how to do that more than anyone I know. You chose your mother, and Octavia, and the kids. You chose your people, time and again. But more than that, you’ve chosen Clarke. Every since I’ve known you, you’ve chosen her. And she’s chosen you.” 

Bellamy opened his mouth to object--what exactly, he didn’t know, except that this was all hitting too close to home. He didn’t like that someone else, someone not Clarke even if it _was_ Kane, could see this all so plainly.

Kane waved away Bellamy’s protest with a flick of his hand. “I know it’s not easy,” he said finally. “It’s never going to be easy. But every night, Abby chooses to come home. And every night, I choose to go home. Some nights, all Abby and I can do is just...be...there for each other. Trust that Clarke knows that.” Bellamy watched as Kane’s look softened, and with a warm rush of certainty, he knew that look was for him, and for Abby and Clarke, too. “Go home, Bellamy. Get some rest. Take a day. Figure your shit out.”

*

Their room was quiet when Bellamy let himself in. He looked at the clock--3:46--most shifts hadn’t ended yet. He hardly ever came home at this time, when the hush of the corridors meant that their room had an airy stillness to it. 

Rain clouds--normal rain, not the seething black rain--obscured the afternoon sun and pearly gray light filtered through the window. Bellamy hung up his jacket, unlaced his boots and pulled them off, pushed off his pants and folded them over a chair. 

When a small bit of anxiety threatened his peace he looked over to the bookshelf across from the bed where he sat. Scavenged books that made up the small library, donated by the Trishanakru, sat on the shelf. A battered volume of folkloric medicine leaned against an equally dog-eared epic fantasy. On the shelf below, two folded scarves: one deep blue and thickly cabled, Clarke’s, the other, maroon and cream stripes, his, both gifts from the Shallow Valley clan. He thought over the words he wanted to say to her, rehearsed them over and over, until they drowned out the tide of panic and gave him a maybe stupid, who knew at this point, veneer of calm of the jittery fatigue of working too many hours at once. 

An hour a twenty-three minutes later (not that he was counting) (too much), Clarke opened the door and let herself in. He watched from the only chair they had in the room, his book lying open on the table in front of him. Clearly, she thought she would find an empty room. Her body sagged against the door, eyes closed, not even bothering to take in her surroundings. 

“Hi.” The word got caught in his throat, came out thready and hitched for such a small word. 

Clarke’s eyes popped open. They were shiny and bright even in the low-light of the rainy afternoon. She swallowed hard. “I...I didn’t expect...I can go---”

“Clarke.” Bellamy closed the book and stood. The movement felt strong and assured, but still, his heart raced and he gripped his hands on his hips to still them. He couldn’t--shouldn’t--reach for her, not yet. “Don’t go. Unless you want. But...I’d like to talk.” 

Clarke nodded once and stepped away from the door. Her movements were cagey and contained as she hung up her bag and lab coat. Her lips pressed together in a thin line, and her shoulders hunched forward. She was, he realized, waiting for the blow. Maybe not the end, but something like it. Maybe he was too, a little, at least. 

“Okay.” Clarke said, finally perched on the edge of the bed. “Let’s talk.” 

The thing was, Bellamy had a speech all planned out. He had given so many speeches before, to galvanize the delinquents, to motivate his squad. Anytime someone needed to hear the reason they fought like they did, he could tell them why. Bellamy could absorb their fears and turn them into words of courage. He thought, to be honest, that he had the right thing to say to Clarke. 

But as ever, Clarke looked at him and all pretense vanished. The pretty words he had prepared fled--and maybe someday, even someday soon, he’d be able to give them to her. But for now, they were replaced with, simply, 

“I…” Bellamy shifted his weight under her expectant gaze. “I...love you.” 

Clarke's eyes widened and she blinked. She looked so stunned that he almost didn’t continue, but fuck. He had come this far. He had to do it for himself, it nothing else. 

“I know that...things being as they are. That might not be wise. That we both have a lot of shit to deal with. But, I love you, Clarke. I...want you. I want…,” Bellamy licked his lips, couldn’t seem to settle on the right words for all of this but he was going to try anyway, “I want to come home with you. I want to try to make this work. And that feels naive to say, I guess. Stupid to believe, to put out there.” He waved his hands at the ether, the _there_ , which made him roll his eyes at himself and her crack just a fraction of a smile.

Then Clarke was on him, arms twining around his neck and lips pressed warm against his. Her lips were everything all at once, soft and sure and just like everything else, he and Clarke just fit together, just knew how to move into each other’s arms. 

Clarke pulled away first, breathless, gently bumping her forehead against his. “I love you.” She reached up and kissed him soft again, quick. “I love you so much.” Another kiss, more ardent, and by this time he was grinning at her. “I’ve wanted you for so long and I was so scared to say.” This time the kiss was longer, drawing him into her, running her tongue along his lips and fuck, he could stay at this moment forever but he always wanted _more_ from Clarke and he finally realized that she wanted that from him, too. 

This time Bellamy pulled away, just enough room so that he could utter the words, “Why? Why would you be afraid of me?”

Clarke’s hand cupped his jaw, her lips following the path of her fingers. “Not you. Just...us. What could happen to you, or to me…” She trailed off and ducked her head. 

“Yeah. I understand.” Bellamy pushed her hair back, tucked it behind her ear, his lips lightly pressing at her forehead, her temple, her cheek, gently pushing her head back up until she laughed and she was looking at him again. Then words tumbled out that felt like a confession, felt like something he should be telling to her in their bed, in the dark. “But I want to try. We’ve come this far. I want you. I want the next...whatever it is. I want a home, Clarke. With you.” 

He felt Clarke nod against him, her lips back on his skin. “Me too. I’m scared to even admit it.” She nuzzled against his neck, then her lips followed and the rush of adrenaline to his head and blood to his cock made him light-headed. “I just. I didn’t want to fuck this up. After you came back late and I was so scared and all I could think about was how I couldn’t do this again. And then when I talked to my mom, she had...some things to say,” Clarke huffed out a laugh. “It’s just that I know our life is harsh. I know that it’s uncertain. But you give me the strength to get through it. But more than, I just...want to be with you. Talk with you at night. Laugh at your dumb jokes. Fuck you,” she said, both sheepish and with heat in her eyes. “Just...be with you.” 

By this time, Bellamy’s arms locked around her, and for a moment, both of them settled into their words, into their future, a moment that was at once _here_ but also _there_. 

Bellamy backed them onto the bed and scooted them all the way back so he could lean on the wall. Clarke straddled him with her head nestled on his shoulder, face tucked into his neck. The moments stretched over them, between them, both of them getting used to something that was both the same and different. They had, technically, shared a bed for months, but the way Clarke relaxed into him was completely new, how he could now brush a kiss on her forehead and run his fingers through her curls. 

The bell rang for dinner, and for a few minutes, the noises of their corridor scurrying to dinner interrupted the quiet. But then peace fell again. 

Clarke rustled, blearily looking up at him. “Shit.” She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. 

“Fall asleep?”

“I guess.” Instead of stretching out, she curled back up on him. Part of Bellamy’s internal alarm system started ringing--too much, too fast, too good--but he swallowed that down. 

But her yawning set him off, and then the fatigue of the past two days of shift work settled over him. “It would be lame. But we could go to sleep.”

“We’re never going to get around to fucking.” 

Bellamy grinned at both the smile and pout in her voice. “We can’t just do things easily, Clarke. That’s not us.” 

“Isn’t that the truth.” Clarke turned her head and kissed his chest, adjusted her body so she could keep moving up, up, up along his throat, to his ear, and finally his lips. “But...I am tired.”

“It’s been a long couple of days.” Bellamy returned her kiss, slid his hands up her sides and--just to see--stopped them right under her breasts, cupping them lightly. He grinned as she gasped into his mouth, his thumb swiping lightly over the top of her shirt. “But we have time.” 

Clarke bit his lip, hard enough for it to sting, hard enough for him to return her biting kiss with a pushy one of his own. She pulled away, panting. “It’ll be better if we wait,” she agreed. Then groaned. “I think.”

“It’s for the good of our first-impression sex.” 

“Very important,” Clarke nodded her head, but her eyes didn’t stray from where he was unbuttoning his pants and shoving them off. “That...that’s very distracting, though.” 

“I could say the same to you,” he retorted mildly as she took her shirt off. “But...just a nap.” 

Clarke fell back into bed and wiggled under the covers, then held the blanket up for him. “Just a nap,” she agreed, as he crawled into bed beside her. This time, instead of just feet, or just hands, Clarke scooted her hips back into his, and he drew her in close until she sighed with contentment. 

“This is nice,” she whispered once they got settled. 

He twisted her hair up and out of the way and laid his lips on the back of her neck. “It is that.” 

And they slept. 

*

Bellamy woke some hours later, after dinner and curfew. Their room was dark and still, and the station creaked around him. For a few moments, it took him back to three nights ago when he had lain awake, uncertain. When he woke up to find the room empty. Now, they had switched positions and Clarke was curled around his back, one of her legs thrown over his, her face buried in between his shoulders. 

His lips twitched a little at the thought of Clarke spooning him, but he liked it. It was like all the other nights when they talked, letting their secrets spill under the cloak of darkness. But different, now, too, and that excitement shivered up his spine. 

Clarke must have felt him move because in the next moment she pressed her lips to his back. “Hey. You awake?”

Bellamy rolled over. “I am.” 

Clarke’s fingers squeezed his hips, slid under the waistband as she looked up at him, questioning and greedy and fuck, yes, he was awake. “So…?”

He answered her with a kiss. Her mouth was so sweet, it was so easy to kiss her, to get lost in it, to never want to do anything else. Clarke opened her mouth for him at the same time she grabbed his hips, rolling both of them so she cradled him between her open legs. Bellamy rocked gently into her, just enough so he knew that her clit was getting the nice, light friction of both pressure and fabric. 

Clarke’s hips lifted against him, seeking him out to grind on and he gave it to her for a few strokes, both of them learning their rhythm as he kissed her, open mouthed and hot. She mewled in protest when he sat back, started kissing down her neck, pushing at her shirt to give him access to her stomach, down, down, down her body, his intent clear. 

But just as he pushed her thighs apart, Clarke tugged on his hair. 

Bellamy looked up at her. “Too much?”

“No. I mean. I like getting head, a lot.” She tugged on him harder and he obliged her, rising over her body and settling again between her legs. “Right now though I just want…” 

He nosed her cheek and took her earlobe between his teeth, bit until she shivered. “Clarke Griffin, blushing. You want what, Clarke?”

Clarke turned her head and arched her neck, lifted her hips up to grind against him, her now bare cunt wet and hot against the fabric of his boxers. “Your dick, you jerk.” 

“Mmm. That’s not a nice way to talk to someone who is about to fuck you.” 

Clarke laughed, firmly planted her hands on his ass and jerked him close. “Does that make up for it?” 

“Shit.” Both their hands went for his briefs and they laughed at the mutual effort to push them down. “Yes. Thank you, Pr--”

He looked at her, grinning, but a little unsure. 

Clarke smirked. “Were you about to call me _Princess?_ ” 

Instead of answering, Bellamy sank his teeth into her collarbone. 

“You were!” 

“No comment.” He traced his tongue over where his teeth had been, and Clarke sighed, flexing her fingers into his hips, but when his eyes looked to her she was smiling, blushing pretty and pink. 

“I can’t believe you were going to call me ‘Princess’.” 

“Everything comes full circle, I guess.” 

“Mmm,” Clarke hummed and reached her hand down, fingers encircling his dick and jesus fucking christ. 

“Like that?” she whispered in his ear as she lightly stroked up and down. 

“God, yes.” 

“How about this?” 

Clarke dipped her fingers into her cunt, drew them out, fingers glistening in the low light and smeared his cock with it. 

Bellamy groaned, hips jerking under her touch. She squeezed harder, more assured, and her fist rounded the top of his head, collecting his precum and stroking down.

“Feel good?” she asked him, with each pull drawing him closer to her.

Bellamy answered by taking a nipple into his mouth. He flicked his tongue over the peaked tip, grinned with satisfaction as her grip on him stuttered. He slid his other hand between her thighs, fingers sliding along her labia, stroking up and down, swiping across her clit, just getting a feel for her. “Shit, Clarke, you’re so wet.”

Clarke’s hips flexed down on his hand, seeking him out, at the same time she pulled him back up to kiss her. “Fuck me.” 

Bellamy kissed her hard. Her mouth opened under his, tongues sliding together as she positioned him at her entrance. He pushed in slowly, their eyes locked together, letting her rock up on him at her own pace, letting her get used to him. 

With a groan, he finally sank fully into her, her cunt hot and wet and so fucking tight he could barely breathe, barely get it together enough to even move. He pushed in and pulled out as measured as possible, trying not to lose himself in the sensation of her nipples dragging on his skin, her little whimpers in his ear, the fleshy sound of their fucking. 

But it couldn’t hold, not with the way she pleaded _fuck me_ at him, eyes hot and bright, her little half-giggle, half moan when he circled his hips, rubbing his pubic bone against her. 

He let go then, pounding into her, feeling her fuck back just as good, just as desperate and wanting. There would be time for slow, leisurely, sometime else, but it had turned decisively from sweet and certain to _now_ and needy, edging on frantic. Clarke’s nails scraped at his ass, hands gripping him so hard he knew there would be bruises, but fuck, he didn’t care, he knew his own hips bones would leave marks on her thighs and he’d kiss them in the morning. Their movements became more rough, Clarke losing the thread of it as she plateaued right before her orgasm. 

“Get on your side,” he said, helping her turn halfway, straddling her bottom leg and brought her top leg over her shoulder. Rising part way on his knees to help get the angle, now allowing him to fuck down on her fully, the top of his dick bumping at just the right place. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” she chanted and her hand darted to her clit. Clarke furiously rubbed herself and let go with a loud, cracked moan, body bowing under him as her cunt clenched his cock. Bellamy’s hips stuttered as her walls fluttered around him, swaying with the force of his own orgasm, eyes shut and gripping onto her.

Once he got his balance and opened his eyes, he saw Clarke was regarding him, eyes soft, fond, and a lot fucked-out. 

“Hey,” Clarke said as she sat up on her palms. She leaned over to his underwear and handed them to him, he slid out and he cupped her there with the fabric, wiping gently. They kissed a little, and it should have been awkward, but it wasn’t, somehow it was already sweet and intimate and familiar.

*

In the morning he woke to Clarke’s lips on his, kissing him lazy and soft. It was still dark out, a product of a rainy morning, and late. They didn’t talk, just moved, lips on lips at first, then him sucking at her breasts until she panted, her fingers circling her clit slow and lazy. Bellamy moved down the curve of her waist and kitten-licked along flare of her hip, nosing between her legs and settling to lick her slow. Bellamy traced his tongue along her swollen labia, flicking up and down her folds as she sighed.

“Fuck, yes, like that,” she 

But before she came she squirmed away, panting, a curious glint to her eye. She sat up and he knelt, her hand reached out to circle his dick. 

“I want to touch you too,” she whispered to him, both bold and vulnerable as she said it, “I want to fuck your mouth at the same time I’m sucking your cock.” 

He didn’t answer with words, tugged her to him and kissed her. Not the slow and lazy kisses of before, but rough, fucking his tongue into her mouth so she could taste herself on him. It sparked something deep inside Bellamy how clearly she wanted him, how challenging it all was, but at the same time not matter what raged on outside their walls, how safe they were, in their room, how safe they were together. 

Clarke sucked on his tongue, his lips, greedy and getting any taste of her off of him. Her hands tangled in his hair, and he did the same, pulling until she gasped, until he knew it stung. She gave just as good, scraping her nails on his naked back, skin feeling singed under her touch. 

Bellamy gripped her in his arms, twisted them around so he fell back, Clarke straddling him. Clarke rocked over his dick and fuck, she was so wet, her arousal so slippery it made her movements messy and uncoordinated. She gripped her tits, fingers pinching at her nipples, and rode him like that, along his erection, until he felt achy with how hard he was, with how much he just wanted to fuck her. 

“Turn around,” Bellamy gripped her hips, but Clarke only stopped with one last circle on his dick, pressing down playfully until he groaned. She readjusted herself, and he pulled her hips towards him until she was right on his face. She looked so good, her labia rosy pink with come streaking her thighs; she smelled so good, sharp and musky and Clarke.

“You okay?” she asked, angling her head back. There was an uncertainty in her voice. “I’ve never actually done this, it just seemed hot…”

He petted at her lower back, placed a kiss on the inside of her thigh. “Me either. And fuck, Clarke, you look so good, okay? I just…” To show her he meant it he licked hard and wet right at her center. 

“Shit, fuck.” Clarke’s forehead dropped to his thigh. “Again.” He did it, to her chants of _again again shit, god._ Then he backed off _,_ bit her lightly at the soft part of her thigh. “Tell me what you want, babe.”

Clarke’s laugh came out strangled, and she retaliated by biting his hip and he jerked. “Fuck, babe, that tongue of yours…”

“This?” Bellamy pressed it right up against her clit, licking hard as he followed it by dragging his swollen bottom lip, then the flat of his chin, raspy with stubble along her clit.

Clarke shuddered, hips flexing down onto his mouth right as she bent over and took his dick in her mouth and his eyes fluttered shut. Clarke’s hand cupped his balls, squeezing and stroking them as her tongue licked firmly from his base, swirling at the tip. 

He took his time with it, letting himself enjoy her taste, find her little twitches and shivers as he hit a good spot with his tongue, hit a pattern that made her lose a bit of rhythm. She did the same, fisting him and bumping his tip against the inside her cheek which sent shockwaves straight through him, tension coiling and pulling in his lower belly. 

Clarke’s legs shook as he fucked his tongue into her, popping off of him to moan, loud and tortured sounding as he combined that pressing the flat of his thumb against her clit, giving her both friction and wet, filthy fucking with his mouth. 

She couldn’t take much of that, and her hips ground down on him, arching up so she could only keep the tip of him in her mouth. 

“Come on, Clarke,” he murmured. 

It was all the encouragement she needed, rising back on her knees and holding herself up on her palms for the perfect angle. Bellamy pressed his tongue flat and hard and broad against her clit, giving her the room she wanted to grind, his strong hands helping her rock on him in the rhythm she wanted.

Clarke fell forward, body shaking with the force of her orgasm, and her sharp taste filled his mouth. Bellamy lapped at her slowly as his hands stroked up and down her back, the curve of her hip, down her thighs. 

But before he could bring her down how he wanted, she slid off, shakily swung around to face him, pressing her mouth to his, sucking his lips. “Fuck me,” she demanded, voice still hitching from the orgasm, still coming down. 

“You sure? Not too sensitive?”

Clarke shook her head, then reconsidered. “Yes, but I want it. I want you inside me like that.”

“Shit, Clarke.” He reached up and kissed her back, tangling his fingers in her hair and pressing her down on him, their sweaty flesh sliding and sticking together as she wriggled her hips over him, then took him in one stroke. 

“Fuck.” He snapped his hips into hers. 

“Yeah, just like that,” Clarke gasped. He did it again, watched as her body jerked with the motion. “Fuck me, just like that Bellamy.” 

Bellamy bent his knees and planted his feet, held her hips so hard he knew there would be bruises, and snapped his hips against her cunt. Clarke’s tits bounced and she swayed with the force of it, barely holding herself steady on his knees. 

Just as Bellamy felt the tension in his lower stomach twist painfully tight, he added his fingers to her clit, enough so that she keened again just as he came inside her. Both of their wrecked groans fill the room, Clarke swaying then collapsing on top of him, their breathing harsh between them. 

*

A few more orgasms, several hours, and a sneaky co-shower later, Bellamy and Clarke made their way down the corridor to the mess hall, hands linked, sides brushing. A few grins and knowing looks and raised eyebrows followed them as they made their way to their usual table. 

“You know we’re going to get shit for this,” Clarke grinned, her smile reaching all the way to her eyes, foot tapping against his shin under the table. 

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he smirked. 

And sure, Raven gave them shit, and Roan raised his eyebrow, and Miller bought him a shot, but in truth, Bellamy thought everyone seemed more relieved than anything else. 

Later, at the bar, Kane sat down on the stool next to him. “I take it you figured your shit out.” 

Bellamy sipped his moonshine, watched as Abby, Raven, and Clarke talked at the other end of the bar. “I mean. I think we’re starting too.”

Kane nodded. “Sometimes you have to...burn something first. Before you can build something better.” 

Bellamy grinned. “What a shit metaphor, sir.”

“Shut up.” Kane’s mouth quirked. “I’m trying to be wise.”

“Sure. Burn and rebuild, cycles of life, all that jazz.”

“I have no idea why I choose to bestow my guidance on such an ungrateful recipient.”

Just as Bellamy opened his mouth to retort, Clarke sidled up to him. “I’ve got an early shift so I’m going to head back.” There was an uncertainty there, one that was _this is new, do we do this? Yet? Ever?_

Bellamy tossed back the rest of his drink, gave a nod to Kane and Abby, who had taken the seat next to Kane. 

“Yeah, let’s go home,” he said and brushed a kiss on her forehead. Something warm unfurled in his chest as she looked up at him, smiling in a way that was unburdened and sweet. Kane said _seven a.m., sharp_ to him, with more than a bit of smug in his voice, and Clarke kissed her mom on the cheek, Abby dividing a knowing, measured look between them

Then Clarke slid an arm around his waist, and he drew her in close to his side, and they walked back to their home. 

**Author's Note:**

> Songs:  
> Dark Waltz & Vanilla Pine by Tow'rs  
> Home by Gabrielle Aplin


End file.
